ChengYu lay on his side, quietly watching his brother sleep.
From the corners of YiChen’s eyes, tears slid soundlessly, soaking into the pillow one drop at a time.
Seeing him like this hurt ChengYu so deeply it was hard to breathe.
He didn’t know what to do.
Was his brother trapped in a nightmare? Should he wake him?
He knew—those sorrows buried in YiChen’s heart were many, and heavy.
And yet YiChen never wanted anyone to see him cry.
ChengYu remembered the times he himself had been sad, when YiChen would always hold him close and whisper:
It’s okay. Just cry it out.
He wanted to say the same back now.
But he couldn’t.
He could only lie there, eyes closed, pretending to sleep.
Just let him cry… it’s okay. If he cries, maybe he’ll feel lighter.
So he thought—if he simply stayed, if he never left his brother’s side, then one day YiChen would, slowly, begin to heal.
?
Darkness melted in the throat of the Gilded Flamefang Sovereign, pooling into molten liquid.
The next instant—a tide of red-gold fire roared outward.
YiChen’s skin split beneath the burn, flesh curling back like drought-cracked earth.
Through the blaze he saw finger bones glowing white—carbon fossils dug out of ancient strata.
Every breath dragged molten glass into his lungs.
Then—
a streak of silver tore through the fire, slamming into him, hurling him clear.
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Those ice-crystal eyes locked onto his face—
and the next heartbeat, that figure collapsed into the flames, leaving behind only a faint soul-light, drifting above the blaze.
“No—!!”
YiChen roared, hurling himself toward it.
But he could only watch as the glow dissolved, fading into the molten abyss.
“Please… save him! I’ll do anything—anything!!”
His scream ripped through the dream’s fabric, tearing the nightmare open.
And from the darkness, a voice answered—deep, formless:
Anything?
YiChen trembled, nodding hard, tears flooding.
“Yes! Anything!!”
In the same breath—
a storm of golden butterflies surged from fissures in the earth-veins.
Silent. Endless.
Each wing etched with the orbits of stars, rimmed with the iridescence of dying supernovae.
Wherever they passed, his broken flesh crystallized—
pain transforming into the searing birth of a billion suns.
When the swarm engulfed his eyes, his whole being ignited—
a pillar of golden flame.
Burning. Breaking. Recasting.
In the fire—
he was reborn.
?
YiChen’s eyes snapped open.
His breath came ragged, chest heaving, cheeks wet.
Tear tracks still burned across his skin, carrying the afterheat of the dream’s flames.
He sat bolt upright.
His heart hammered against his ribs, as if the inferno had never ended.
Around him—silence.
Only the faint patter of rain dripping from the eaves, like embers falling after a fire’s last sigh.
The room was dim, curtains drawn.
Night had not fully receded.
He lowered his gaze—
ChengYu lay curled beside him, sleeping soundly, though his brow furrowed faintly.
One corner of the blanket had slipped.
A small hand rested lightly on YiChen’s arm.
YiChen froze.
And then he saw it—
at the corner of ChengYu’s closed eyes, a thin trail of dried tears, faint even now.
The sight struck him like a blow.
His throat closed. No words could form.
In his dream, he had lost this light.
But here—this light endured.
Quiet. Steadfast.
Walking with him through the night, refusing to let go.
YiChen’s hand trembled as he pulled the blanket gently back over his brother’s shoulder.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t weep.
He only lowered his head and pressed a kiss to ChengYu’s temple—
as if swearing, not to heaven, but to fate itself:
This time—I will never let him slip through my fingers.
He leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes, steadying his breath.
For the first time, he pressed down the grief instead of letting it consume him.
Not because the pain was gone—
but because ChengYu was still here.
Even if this was only a fleeting, borrowed fragment of memory—
He would guard it.
He would guard this light.
